


Meet Me Halfway

by stophookingatmeswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stophookingatmeswan/pseuds/stophookingatmeswan
Summary: Emma Swan reluctantly agrees to go to Senior Prom with Killian Jones. After a night together she panics and leaves, only to come face to face again with him ten years later.





	1. Chapter 1

“Come on, Swan. I don’t have a date. You don’t have a date. What’s the problem here?”

Emma’s forehead slammed down onto her open pre-calc book, effectively wrinkling her notes and buying her a moment to reluctantly acquiesce the fact that if the last ten minutes were any indication, he wasn’t going to give up until he had the answer he wanted. 

 _Killian Jones._ The bane of her existence. The Ferris Bueller to her inner Cameron Frye. He’d spent the last four years managing to become both her best friend and the most irritating one; something she reminded him of often. Including now as she lifted her head to glare at him. 

“Jones, I have to study. My last final is today. Not all of us are shipping out to exotic lands unknown with the Navy after graduation on Sunday. I can’t afford to lose any of my scholarships. Now kindly fuck off.” 

Killian laughed, no more offended by her salty language than he’d have been with flowery prose. 

“Yes, well, some of us don’t have the smarts,” he tapped her forehead with one long finger, honed by regular guitar playing, “to do the college thing.” 

“Come on. If you weren’t so determined to slack off, you could have had the grades to come with me.” Emma busied herself with smoothing out her notes, swallowing around the lump in her throat at the idea Killian was leaving. 

Leaving home. _Leaving her._  

Even though she’d given him no indication he would have been welcome to accompany her to Boston until it was safe. And safe, by Emma Swan’s standards, meant after it was too late for him to say yes. 

“Do you want me to go away, Swan?” He had a foot up on the bench of the opposite side of the picnic table their ragtag group had occupied in the quad since sophomore year, elbow balanced on his knee and chin in one hand as he stared her down. Through the years, the group had ebbed and flowed with new members and lost significant others, most recently Milah and Neal, hence their mutual lack of prom dates. “Just say the word.” 

“Leave,” she deadpanned. 

He hopped up onto the table, lounging on his side, one long leg encased in black skinny jeans crossed over the other. Scuffed boots hung off the side of the table and the shirttails of his flannel – the one she’d given him for Christmas last year for Secret Santa and DID NOT buy because the blue matched his eyes – draped over her open textbook. His lower lip was poked out in a pout. 

“That’s not the word I was hoping to hear.” 

As usual, he was too close and too eager, and it was always too much. 

 _And somehow not enough._  

Emma knew the prom thing was as much for her benefit as his. Killian had been coaxing her out of her bubble for years and if she let herself admit it, his invitations and insistences that she accompany him to this dance and that game had resulted in some of the best and most memorable experiences of her high school career. And now, when he was waiting for her to say yes as patiently as Killian Jones waited for anything, she knew that he’d make it a night they’d both remember. 

“Fine.” She put some extra exasperated sigh on the word and laughed as he rolled off the table in excitement. 

“Really?” His voice squeaked and he coughed to clear it. “I mean, really, Swan?” Her silent stare was the only answer he needed. “Right. Okay, I’ll come pick you up at 6:00.” 

Emma watched as bounced on his toes, hands shoved in the pockets of his ever-present black leather jacket. 

“Ugh, this means I’ll have to go shopping.” She could hide her look of disgust. 

“Just go like that.” Killian gestured at her and Emma looked down, surveying her go-to no muss, no fuss outfit. 

“In boots, skinny jeans and a red leather jacket?” 

He shrugged. “Why not? I like the red leather jacket. But if you want something else, I’m sure Mary Margaret and Ruby would love to get their hands on you and dress you up a like a doll.” 

“Oh, God,” she grumbled. “If Mary Margaret had her way, I’d be showing up in a full-on Cinderella ball gown. And Ruby would make me look like Streetwalker Barbie.” 

Killian’s eyes glazed over; undoubtedly picturing her in one of the skintight numbers Ruby preferred and she lobbed a crumpled sheet of notepaper at his face. 

“Earth to Jones.” She snapped her fingers. “I’m not going to prom dressed like a hooker.” 

A shit-eating grin complete with a tongue curling up over his lip confirmed what he’d been thinking. She waved one hand to dismiss him, pointing to her notes with the other. He bowed dramatically and tipped an imaginary hat. 

“Milady. I pick you up Saturday at six and not a moment later.” 

**** 

“How about this one?” 

Emma didn’t even look up from the rack of dresses she was perusing. 

“Nope.” 

“Emma, you didn’t even see,” Ruby whined. 

“I don’t have to look. I know it’s six inches too short, a size too small and will show 75% more boob situation than I’d like.” Still, Emma looked over the flashy red number and threw a hand up in exasperation. “Jesus, Ruby! Mary Margaret, can’t you do something about her?” 

A sweet face framed by a pixie cut popped out from a rack a few feet away. Mary Margaret’s legs were completely swallowed by tulle, satin and sequins, indicating she’d found the ball gowns, and Emma had to fight to not pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation. 

_Told you, Jones._

“I’m going to look…over there.” Emma gestured to a rack of dresses far enough away from her friends so they wouldn’t witness the minor mental hissy fit she was throwing over their particular brand of “help.” 

She grabbed the least objectionable handful of flounce she could find and headed toward the fitting rooms at the back of the store. Huffing a bit at the ridiculousness of her friends, she stripped quickly and wrestled the dress over her head. 

 _Oh._  

It was the girliest thing Emma Swan had ever worn. She’d call it pink. Mary Margaret would most likely come up with some frilly-ass name like blush. Ruby would call it a waste of – she looked at the price tag – eighty-five _fucking_ dollars. Swaying back and forth as she looked in the mirror, she liked the way the skirt swirled around her legs. And, always the practical one, it had enough support up top that she wouldn’t need to shell out for a strapless bra. As she took one last look, voices carried over the top of the changing room. 

“I can’t believe you’re trying to get her to show up to her senior prom dressed like some kind of harlot, Ruby.” Mary Margaret’s tone was gentle but chastising and Emma was ready to bust out of the changing room half-dressed to high five her when Ruby spoke. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a prude. All I’m trying to do is help the situation along a little.” 

 _Situation?_ Emma pressed her ear to the door. 

“I don’t know how short-circuiting his brain is going to get Emma and Killian together. Besides, he’s not the one who needs convincing. He’s already head over heels for her, remember?” 

 _What???_  

All of a sudden the fitting room felt too small and Emma scrabbled to pull the dress off, her mind going a mile a minute. Killian was head over heels? For her? Since when? Sure, they were close and when they were both in relationships, that closeness had caused some problems with their significant others. There had been more than once at parties and bonfires where either Killian or Emma (or both) had to go chasing down Milah or Neal to soothe hurt feelings, but she’d never allowed herself to believe their fears were rooted in any truth. 

Not when she had her own secret truth – that she’d hoped beyond hope that the scruffy, blue-eyed boy with the dark hair whose eyes lingered on her just a little too long in freshman year English would ask her out. And that she was brokenhearted when Milah – confident, uncomplicated Milah – swooped in and asked _him_ out. 

His acceptance of Milah’s offer had put a dark mark on Emma’s heart and she spent the next year putting up walls that he did his best to scale. The best and most she could do was to reluctantly allow him a spot as her friend and he’d done his best to worm his way as far into her life as she would allow. Was it so hard to believe somewhere along the line he’d fallen for her? 

Well… _yeah._ Her friends had to be mistaken. That’s all there was to it. 

Pulling her clothes on, she stood for a moment to collect herself, rolling her eyes when she realized she had a stranglehold on the dress, the swishy skirt balled in her fists. Smoothing it down, she hung it back on the hanger and took a few deep breaths before opening the door. The girls rushed her, each talking over the other in an attempt to sell Emma on their latest suggestions but she held up the hanger. 

“Sorry, guys. I’m gonna take this one.” 

As Mary Margaret gushed over the _gorgeous blush color_ and Ruby mumbled something about the skirt at least offering some easy access, Emma walked over to a wall of shoes and grabbed the first pair of heels she could find in her size that didn’t look like they’d result in a broken hip and headed to the register. 

**** 

Six o’clock on the dot and the doorbell rang. When Emma opened it, Killian was standing on the other side, a single red rose in his hand and a stunned look on his face, as he looked her up and down. 

Her foster mother – a sweet woman named Ingrid - had apologized profusely that she didn’t have more experience doing hair and makeup. Between the two of them, they managed a high ponytail that was dressier than Emma’s usual, some light blush, mascara, eyeliner and a light lipstick. 

Standing in Ingrid’s room and looking at herself in the full-length mirror behind the door, Emma had been self-conscious, wondering if her dress was too informal and, to the discomfort of her walls, if Killian would even like it. As he stared at her, she could see him almost imperceptibly shake his head as if bringing himself out of a trance. 

“You look stunning, Swan.” He said in sincerely and with a reverence she’d never heard before; not just from Killian but from, well, _anyone._ It was unsettling and Mary Margaret’s words echoed in her head. 

 _He’s already head over heels for her._  

“You look…” she gestured at him and laughed when he answered with a flippant “I know.” 

He’d been working out regularly to prepare himself for the military, but the muscle he’d put on was lean and nowhere near bulky. The cut of his tuxedo emphasized the new broadness of his shoulders, the slimness of his waist and the strength of his thighs. His scruff was less unruly than usual but not gone completely, just well defined along his cheeks and jawline. There was product in his hair but it was as artfully disheveled as ever. 

Ingrid cleared her throat quietly behind Emma and she ushered Killian in, posing for the requisite photos in the foyer of her foster home. He kept his hand at her waist, his palm warm and wide. With a little coaxing from their photographer, Emma was turned toward him, one hand on his back and the other resting on his chest. She could swear his heartbeat was more rapid than usual, but she chalked it up to embarrassment at having to turn this way and that at Ingrid’s behest. 

They finally escaped her foster mother’s clutches citing a dinner reservation with their friends. Emma pretended she didn’t see Killian offer his arm on the way to the car, instead walking in front of him and ducking into the passenger seat before he could do anything gentlemanly like hold the door for her. 

They made the short trip to the restaurant in silence and Emma couldn’t help watching him as he drove. He was focused on the road and quiet but he couldn’t fool her. The muscles in his jaw were clenching, a sure sign he was agitated or overthinking. Realizing her quick trip to the car may have hurt his feelings, she tapped the hand he usually had resting on the gearshift. 

“I’m really glad you asked me to come with you, Killian.” 

He looked surprised but recovered enough to turn his hand over to link their fingers and squeeze. 

“I’m glad you said yes. Now prepare yourself for an evening of G-rated PDA from David and Mary Margaret, Ruby’s date playing grabass and the awesome power of 80s ballads courtesy of Grumpy,” he said, referencing the cantankerous school janitor who moonlighted as a DJ and had taken care of music for Storybrooke High’s school dances as long as anyone could remember. 

**** 

Okay, she was having a blast and it wasn’t because Ruby’s date – an older college guy who told anyone who would listen he was pre-med – had spiked the punch. The music was cheesy but loud and Emma found herself out on the dance floor with her friends. Ruby’s stripper moves got some looks but nothing brought as much attention as Killian’s attempt and complete success at doing The Worm. When he stood, his eyes were a glittery blue in the light of the disco ball and Emma yelped as he caught her around the waist and lifted her, spinning them both around. 

The momentum threw them a little off-kilter and Killian put her down just as they bounced against the bleachers, shoved flat against the wall to give the seniors room to party. Her back hit the wood a split second before his hand came up and cradled the back of her head to save it the same fate. The momentum pushed him into her and for a moment, they stood there staring at each other, pressed together from chest to knees. 

Jesus, he was just so fucking beautiful.

Killian was solid and radiating heat, both the literal and figurative kind. His eyes bored into hers and she could see him swallow hard and move his head. 

For a moment, Emma thought he would kiss her and she panicked, slipping out of his grasp. The beat of the music was still fast and she grabbed his hand as his face fell, pulling him back toward their group. 

“Come on, Jones. Let’s dance!” 

**** 

Talk about your all-time backfires. 

Just as they joined their friends, the lights dimmed and the music changed. Couples shifted toward each other and out of the corner of her eye, Emma could see Killian shuffling his feet and scratching behind his ear. 

“Emma would you like to da–“ He oofed as she barreled into him, misjudging the distance between them but recovered quickly, his arms circling her waist as hers went up and around his neck. The song playing was completely 80’s and unfamiliar to Emma but Killian seemed to know it, humming along in her ear. 

_In a lifetime_

_Made of memories_

_I believe_

_In destiny_

They swayed in the darkness, circling in place. She didn’t miss how his arms tightened around her, hands falling slowly below the just-friends zone until they were on her upper ass. His thumb circled lightly and she took a shaky breath. 

“Is this okay?” His voice was husky in her ear and she shivered, her own thumb toying with the hair just above his collar. It was scary and new and it felt so…right. 

“Yeah.” Emma leaned in to whisper in his ear and she reveled in the sound he made as her nose brushed against his neck. She thought about burying her face there and breathing him in, all soap and cologne and Killian, but she was feeling brave and drew back to see his face. 

He looked wrecked and almost scared, jaw muscles twitching again, and she brought her hands up, smoothing her fingertips over his scruff and along his cheekbones, and back down to rest on the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. 

_Meet me halfway_

_Across the sky_

_Out where the world belongs_

_To only you and I_  

Killian was caught off guard when she kissed him, pulling him toward her by his jacket. It didn’t take long for him to get onboard, a hand anchoring behind her head as he kissed her back with a ferocity and thoroughness she’d only thought existed in movies. They only drew back when they ran out of air, her hands clutching his lapels as they swayed to the fading music. 

“That was…” he trailed off, looking completely fuckstruck and Emma imagined she looked somewhat the same. And she wanted more. 

“Wanna get out of here?” The question was simple and absolutely loaded, and Killian stood for a moment, searching her eyes. Emma smiled nervously, fidgeting with the satin ribbon lining his jacket. He nodded and reached for her hand, leading her out of the gym. 

**** 

The porch lights were out at his house, his older brother not expecting Killian home on prom night and gone himself; like most weekends spending nights at his girlfriend’s place across town. Emma stood one step down from Killian as he unlocked the door, sheltered from the light wind by the too-large tuxedo jacket he’d slipped around her shoulders after a quick, fumbling make out session against the side of his car in the school’s parking lot. 

The drive from the prom had been as quiet as the drive to dinner but the vibe between them was completely different. Emma was sitting off-kilter in the seat, legs angled toward him. His hand was resting on her knee, fingers idly toying with her dress. Every so often he would look over at her and smile, the light reflecting off the rearview mirror illuminating his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile back shyly. 

Once the door was open, Killian stepped aside, ushering her in and closing the door behind her. She slipped his jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him, giggling as he tossed it toward the row of hooks next to the door and missed in the dark. 

There was a small amount of light coming in from the kitchen and Emma could see he had the same look as he did on the dance floor; jumpy and unsure and wholly un-Killian. She startled when he loudly cleared his throat and the ensuing laughter broke the tension. His hand closed around her wrist and drew her near, a thumb touching the slight cleft in her chin before he bent down to kiss her. It was slow and sweet for a moment then all bets were off. 

Emma’s back hit the door with more force than it had the bleachers but she barely noticed it. She was too focused on his tongue sliding past hers as his hips moved in a dirty grind, the thick ridge of his hardening length between her legs making her break the kiss with gasp as she grabbed at his ass to bring him even closer. 

Hot, open mouthed kisses mixed with licks and nibbles up and down the column of her neck until he selected a spot just above the juncture of her shoulder and sucked hard, undoubtedly leaving a mark but when his tongue laved over the spot to soothe it, she couldn’t find a damn to give. Her fingers came up to unbutton his vest and shirt, a hissed and annoyed “fuck” coming out of her mouth at the sheer number of fasteners and the fact that Killian had put a few inches of space between them to give her room to work. 

By the time she got to his shirt, Emma was impatient and ripped it open, buttons clattering to the floor. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, hands slipped through the patch of soft hair on his chest and down his belly. Emma’s face went hot and she toyed with the waistband of his pants, suddenly feeling the overwhelming weight of her nearly complete inexperience with sex (a six-minute encounter in the backseat of her own car didn’t count.) Looking down in the direction of her stumbling fingers, she shifted on her feet. 

Killian’s hand came up, cupping the side of her face, lifting until her head was tilted up toward him. She couldn’t make out many of his features in the dark, relying instead on the memory of his face borne of all the times she’d watched him without his knowledge, drinking in every smile, laugh, and flash of anger or worry. For years she’d friendzoned her observations and the feelings they evoked, keeping him at arm’s length. Now that he was so close, she wanted him closer but didn’t know how to tell him. Emma opened her mouth but nothing came out and she felt tears of frustration prickling. 

Because of their positions, he could see her far better than she could see him and, ever in-tune with her emotions, he pulled her toward him when he saw the shine of her eyes. 

“Hey now, Swan. We can’t have any of that.” Strong arms circled around her back, hands running a soothing pattern along her spine. 

She knew he meant it to be comforting, and it’s not like she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but every time his fingers brushed the bare skin above the scooping back of her dress, she shuddered. 

Killian froze, seeming to mistake her shivers for sobs and he drew back, holding her at arm’s length. 

“What is it love? Is this – is it too much? I don’t want you to feel like you have to – I mean, we can go upstairs and put on a movie like we’ve done a hundred times before.” 

As he rambled, she realized he meant it. Every word. That if she wanted to stop, he would. If she wanted to stay, he’d let her, even if the night ended without the two of them fulfilling the most clichéd of prom night stereotypes, he wouldn’t hold it against her. 

“You can steal my favorite tee shirt and a pair of my boxers like usual. I’ll even give you the good pillow to drool on.” He grunted when she pinched his side. “Ow!”

“For fuck’s sake, Jones, _shut up_.” 

And for once, he listened. He stood, as she supposed he always did: waiting for her. 

With a sudden, hard kiss she took his hand and started upstairs, putting an extra wiggle in her ass for good measure. If his trip on the third step was any indication, it worked. 

The second they were on equal standing again, things started up where they’d left off. Mouths fused together, he walked her into his small bedroom, slowing down just enough to kick the door shut. This time, it was Killian’s back meeting the door, Emma pushing his shirt and vest off his shoulders and kicking her shoes to the side, wasting no time working her own magic on his neck as he struggled to free his arms. 

“Dammit. Swan, you have to stop for a second.” He shoved his hands between them, completely caught up in the closed cuffs of his shirt. “These cufflinks were a lot easier to get on than they are to get off.” He paused as she started to giggle. “Really? We’re going to lose it over ‘getting off’ jokes?” 

“You’ve been trying to get me to laugh over your stupid innuendos for years, Jones. What’s different now?” She worked his sleeves right side in and managed to undo the cufflinks. Killian pulled his arms out and he wasted no time circling his hands around to her backside. Between his falter on the stairs and the immediate grab once his hands were free, there was no doubt in her mind: Killian Jones was an ass man.

“What’s different is that I’m half undressed. And I’d really like for you to be between half and completely undressed.” He spun her around in the space between the door and the bed, moving her hair over one shoulder and brushing his lips over the other, fingers toying with her zipper. “So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” 

As he spoke he pulled the tab, slowly unzipping her dress. His breath hitched when it reached the waistband of her panties with no bra in sight, and again when she pulled the straps off her shoulders and let the fabric pool around her feet at the foot of the bed. 

The only reason she didn’t lurch forward when he pounced on was the strong arm that came around her, hand resting so low on her abdomen that if she stood on her tiptoes, his middle finger would brush against her clit. His other hand came up to cup her breast and he took advantage of the expanse of neck exposed when her head dropped back onto his shoulder. Her own hand came up, threading into his hair and pulling on the strands when he bit lightly at the juncture of her shoulder and rolled his hips with little finesse into her backside. Needing to feel him against her, she turned in his arms and tipped backward, pulling him down onto the bed with her. One leg flew up and the other came dangerously close to kneeing him between the legs. With some rearranging and wiggling, they moved up the bed until her head was on one of the pillows and he was cradled between her thighs. 

A low-wattage desk lamp bathed him in soft light; light she’d seen him in dozens of times when she burned the midnight oil studying and he fought to stay awake to keep her company. She’d never seen him like this, though – lips kiss-swollen and breathless, arms holding himself above her. She couldn’t help but kiss those lips again, taking the lead this time and swiping her tongue across his. Her legs came up, ankles crossing behind his back, encouraging him to move against her. 

Before long they were both breathless and he pulled back, apologizing as he reached down his pants to rearrange himself then grinning wickedly when she suggested he just take them off. Emma watched as he undid his belt and button, hesitating slightly and only continuing onto the zipper when she nodded encouragingly. Once pulled off, the pants were tossed over the side of the bed onto the floor along with shoes and socks, and it left Killian kneeling between her legs in tight black boxer briefs that hid nothing. 

They stared at each other for a moment and snorted when their hands collided as they reached out to touch at the same time. The back of Emma’s fingers brushed against the generous length angled toward Killian’s hip inside his boxers and he moaned as he bent his head, licking a stripe from her belly button and up between her breasts before swirling around one of her nipples. 

Encouraged by the noise he made, Emma danced her fingertips over him, relishing in the way he bucked against her. When she closed her hand around him and started to stroke, he lurched forward, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. 

“Oh, my God, Emma. That feels so good. Too good.” He reach down and took hold of her wrist, stopping her movement. “If you keep that up, I’ll be done way too soon.” 

His solution for staving off impending orgasm was to pull her panties off run a hand back up her thigh. He kissed her fully and a little filthy as his fingers teased between her legs. Emma was suddenly self-conscious at how wet she was but her fears were eased when he pulled his lips away from hers and breathed into her ear. 

“Fuck, you are so wet for me.” The middle finger she’d been so close to experiencing before slid slowly inside her and Emma clawed at his shoulders, back arching. Soon Killian had a rhythm going and thumb on her clit. She didn’t know how much more she could take and then he crooked his finger, begging her to come for him and she couldn’t hold back, sobbing her climax into his neck.

He held her afterward, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and telling her how beautiful she looked tonight. She kissed his cheek, still breathless and asked if he had condoms, unsettled by his compliments. Much like the moment at the picnic table, he rolled off the bed in his haste and she could hear his nightstand drawer opening and the telltale sound of a foil packet being torn open. 

In a flash he was back on the bed and settled between her legs, kissing her deeply, length nudging her thigh. He knew she wasn’t a virgin but still took it slow, reaching down to take himself in hand and slipping inside her gently. 

Like everything with Killian, it was too much but Emma wanted more. Emma watched his face as he moved above her, slipping just a little further in with each stroke. His tongue touched his upper lip, something she’d seen a million times when he was concentrating and trying to do something right. She wanted to reach up and touch his face but her hands were anchored around his forearms, nails biting in just a touch as she felt the aching stretch around him. 

Once he was fully seated, Killian came down onto his elbows and she brushed the hair off his forehead just before he rested it on hers. They moved together, a lazy give and take, the softest of kisses between brushes of their noses. When it started to burn less, her hands went around to his back, encouraging him to move faster, fingertips slipping over sweat-slicked skin. His thrusts became harder, less measured and he began to chant in her ear. 

“I’m going to come. Emma…Emma, I love you so much.” 

**** 

It hadn’t been difficult to untangle herself from his arms. Killian was the annoying type who could – and often did – sleep anywhere. She dressed in the dim light and picked up her shoes, skipping the step that she knew had a squeak and snuck out in the early morning hours, tears already pouring down her face. 

She just couldn’t handle it. Not his love, not him leaving. So she did what she does best and left first. 

Emma had already aged out of the system; Ingrid was kind enough to let her stay even though she was already eighteen and there was no money coming in from the state. It didn’t take long to change clothes and pack up her meager belongings, the favorite tee shirt of Killian’s she’d stolen a few weeks before shoved all the way to the bottom of her duffel. 

She left a note on the kitchen table for Ingrid thanking her for everything and ran to her car before she could change her mind. She’d miss the ceremony later but a diploma was just a piece of paper. Her transcripts would show she’d graduated and that’s all she needed. 

As Emma rolled out of town and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, the single line she’d scrawled on a piece of binder paper and left on Killian’s nightstand played over and over again in her head. 

_I can’t take a chance I’m wrong about you._


	2. Chapter 2

Some would call Killian Jones a hopeless romantic. He’d call himself a fucking glutton for punishment. 

Ten years had passed since he’d danced in this very same gym with Emma Swan, kissed her and taken her home. Ten years since he’d lain with her in his bed, limbs tangled with her head resting on his chest in post-sex bliss. Ten years since he’d woken up alone, a single, scribbled sentence on a piece of paper breaking his heart. 

He’d skipped graduation, wholly unable to be in the same room as Emma, picked a fight with Liam and left town, driving across the country to San Diego and the Naval Training Center. Throwing himself into his career, letters and phone calls home had been sporadic, especially after he shipped out with Special Ops at the age of twenty-four. It had been hard for the military to track him down when Liam died, the news finally catching up to him at the massive cave complexes at Zhawar Kili in Afghanistan a week after his brother was already in the ground. 

The job was all Killian had left until a joint op with Army Special Forces went horribly wrong and leaving him permanently disabled, doctors unable to save his left hand. He found himself medically retired at the age of twenty-six, too much loss hardening him. 

His brother. 

His hand. 

_Her._

He’d returned to Storybrooke and the house Liam had left him, still paying the mortgage as he’d done since learning of his death, but letting it fall into disrepair as he drowned his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle, living off his savings and disability pay. 

A knock on the door one day pulled him out of one of his lighter benders, a second, more insistent pounding coming after he’d invited the unexpected visitor to fuck off at the top of his lungs. Killian pulled the door open, expecting a pushy salesman, but it was Mary Margaret standing on his porch. She’d brought him bread and homemade chicken soup – _soup_ , for fuck’s sake – and she completely ignored his protests, pushing herself past him, carefully hanging her coat and scarf on one of the hooks by the door. 

If she was offended by his dismal housekeeping or the odor of the closed up house, she didn’t show it; just busied herself with opening curtains and windows in the kitchen, and running a sinkful of hot, soapy water in order to clean a bowl and spoon. He tried protesting, insisting he could take care of himself but withered under her glare, sitting at the kitchen table instead of the couch to eat for the first time in a long time, as she washed the mound of dishes he’d let pile up and took out the overflowing trash. 

Mary Margaret sat across from him, saying nothing until he asked about her ring; ashamed he knew nothing about the life of one of his oldest friends. She’d married David not long after high school, _no kids yet_ , but he could see the longing in her eyes. She invited him over to their loft for dinner and he tried to beg off but she wasn’t having it, swirling out of his house and leaving behind a cloud of sweet floral perfume and an air of hope. 

The two of them helped him find his new normal; a slightly modified version of the man he’d always been: hardworking, loyal and quick to laugh. Some of their old group had stuck around town and Killian found himself invited to brunch and holiday dinners, extending his own invitations to their tight-knit group for outings on the boat he had found and painstakingly fixed up with David’s help. 

It was one night on the water that Ruby dared them all to attend their upcoming high school reunion and Killian had agreed, thinking he could get through a night of nostalgia with little more than a tiny squeeze of his heart. But once he’d made the rounds, shaking hands and bussing cheeks of classmates he barely recognized and hadn’t thought of in ten years, it was almost too much to bear to be in one of the last places he’d seen Emma. 

A makeshift bar had been set up in the corner of the gym next to the DJ booth-slash-stage where the stalwart and ever-predictable Grumpy was still spinning outdated tunes. Killian ordered a rum and Coke and nursed it while surveying the crowd 

The turnout was bigger than he’d expected. Groups crowded the barstools in an increasingly tipsy ebb and flow until liquid courage coaxed the vast majority onto the dance floor. Ruby caught his eye and did a little shimmy, gesturing to Killian to join them. There was a flash of blonde over her shoulder and he did a double take before assuming his eyes had just played tricks on him. He pointed to his watered-down drink and tried to wave Ruby off, hoping she’d occupy herself with the same on again/off again boyfriend who reminded everyone he was a doctor now with annoying regularity.

Nice wish. Ruby and Mary Margaret pulled Killian off his stool and dragged him onto the dance floor, his ears ringing after spending too much time in close proximity to Grumpy’s state-of-the-art speaker system; he’d clearly upgraded his set up over the years, if not his playlist. It was that ringing that made him almost miss Ruby’s deafening screech and he was unceremoniously elbowed aside as she and Mary Margaret rushed someone just ending a hug with David. 

It was her. 

If she’d been beautiful at eighteen, she was downright jaw dropping at nearly thirty. As Mary Margaret held Emma at arm’s length, he could see a form-fitting red dress and leanly muscled shoulders. Her legs looked impossibly long in sky-high heels and gone was her customary ponytail, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders. 

Killian started to panic, eyes darting around looking for an escape route but it was too late. She was already stepping toward him cautiously and he was overwhelmed with emotions. Did he want to ignore her? Yell and scream? Drop to his knees and ask why she’d left him? 

He settled for a casual, “Hey, Swan.” 

Emma looked relieved as she smiled. 

“Hey, Jones.” 

When Ruby and Mary Margaret called out to usher Emma away, the need to touch her just once crashed down on him and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, immediately regretting the uninvited show of familiarity until he realized she’d moved in to do the same. It resulted in an awkward kiss that was more corner of the mouth than cheek and as she was pulled away, his fingers came up to touch his lips and he huffed out a breath and a muttered _fuck me_. 

**** 

The next time he saw her, the blonde curls were somewhat less bouncy and the heels had been abandoned in favor of bare feet. Emma’s eyes were shining; her tongue loosened by a few trips to the bar for legitimately and legally poured rum punch. She dragged him away from the bleachers, begging him to dance with her and even with their complicated history, Killian found he couldn’t deny Emma anything, twirling her around on the way to the dance floor just to hear her giggle. 

He tried to ignore the fact that the couples had paired off and Emma was currently shaking her delectable ass just inches away from him. Actively willing his body to not respond and praying to a god in whom he’d long since stopped believing was going to ever deliver when it came to matters concerning Emma Swan, he breathed out a sigh of relief when the song ended just as she caught both of his hands – completely unfazed by the tactile difference between real and prosthetic – and brought them around her waist tight enough to bring his hips flush against her. 

Killian’s relief was short-lived. 

He registered that the tempo of the music had changed and that Emma had turned in his arms but it took a second for the song to register.

 

_Every moment returns again in time_

_When I've got the future on my mind_

_Know that you'll be the only one_

 

“Emma, I can’t.“ Killian was surprised at how broken his voice sounded as he tried to back away. 

Her arms came up around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as she drew him close despite his protest. 

“Please, just stay. Just for a minute.” 

As much as part of him wanted to bolt for the nearest fucking door and fire alarm be damned, Killian found himself pulling her toward him, burying his face into her hair as they swayed to the music. 

She sniffled near his ear so quietly he wondered if he’d imagined it, and Killian pulled his head back just enough to smooth away the few blonde strands caught on the scruff of his chin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ruby jerk a thumb in their direction and for a split second he thought she was drawing attention to them. When he realized she was pulling their group back to give them privacy, he mouthed “thank you” before tightening his grip on Emma and tucking her head beneath his chin as the song came to an end. 

When Emma straightened up she had wet smudges of mascara under her eyes and she poked at a spot on his collar, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the next tune. 

“Shit, I’m - dammit. If it doesn’t wash out, I’ll replace the shirt.” 

He caught her wrist to stop her from rubbing the stain in any more and shot her a look. 

“It’s not the worst thing you’ve done to one of my shirts. At least this one isn’t a rental.” 

Emma’s head dropped back and she laughed, loud and long. It was as infectious as it had always been and he found himself smiling at her when she composed herself. 

“So it’s gonna be like that, Jones? Just ripping the Band-Aid off?” 

Killian shrugged and gave her a shit-eating grin that was cut short when her hands started wringing together. 

“ _Youwannagetoutofhereandmaybegotalksomeplace?_ ” 

The music cut off just after “you” and everyone within earshot heard her ask if he wanted to get out of there at top volume before the school’s ill-tempered DJ came over the microphone, calling the King and Queen of their graduating class up. Emma clapped her hand over her mouth and turned bright red, the blush rushing prettily down her neck and onto her chest.

Killian laughed long and loud, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her through the sea of bodies to the coat check. Despite the chilly night, she hadn’t brought a jacket and Killian didn’t think twice about holding his out for her to slip her arms into, or reaching past her to take her heels from the person working the counter when they were offered along with her purse. 

“You don’t have to,” she protested but he was already down on one knee in front of her. Emma braced herself with a hand on his shoulder and stepped into one shoe first then the other. When Killian stood, they were the same height and he waggled his eyebrows at her. 

“It’s a good look for you, Swan. Red and leather.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out of the building, stopping short when he remembered he’d third-wheeled it with Mary Margaret and David. “I don’t have a car here. Do you?” 

Making long strides past him toward the passenger door of a nondescript dark sedan, she motioned him around to the driver’s side and dug into her clutch. 

“Do you mind driving? I’m under the legal but don’t take chances.” She held up a clunky plastic keychain he recognized was from a rental company and tossed it at him over the top of the car where he snatched it out of the air. “Nice reflexes.” 

It took a few seconds to adjust the seat and mirrors to his liking, and reach into his old bag of tricks to tease her about her height. Emma flipped him off with one hand as she reached for the seatbelt with the other. Her legs were crossed and angled toward him to keep her knees from hitting the underside of the dashboard thanks to her shoes. Killian tried not to let his eyes linger on the generous length of bare thigh that was exposed thanks to the further hiking of her already short dress when she sat down. 

The radio blared when the engine turned over and Killian beat Emma to the volume button. 

“Some things never change, huh, Swan? Still riding around town with the music blasting.” He hoped the dramatic eye roll hid the second peek at her legs. “Didn’t your ears suffer enough during your ‘Promiscuous Girl’ phase?” 

“Whatever. Don’t pretend you didn’t appreciate all of the time I spent trying to learn Nelly Furtado’s belly dancing moves.” She body rolled in her seat and smacked his arm when he dramatically let his head fall back, tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

“Tsk, tsk. Such violence. Now where to?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“I – I mean, we can go to your place if you want. I’m just at the hotel downtown.” 

“Not my house,” Killian said quickly. He was already having a hard time dealing every creepy, history-repeating parallel to the last night they were together. There was no way in hell he could handle that one. 

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested – we can head to Granny’s for pie and talk there if you want. If the hotel makes you uncomfortable.” 

Emma looked serene, ethereal even with her high cheekbones and straight jawline, gazing through the windshield but a slight hand tremor gave her nervousness away. 

“Do _you_ want to go to Granny’s? Her baking has suffered somewhat in her advanced age and the apple pie you love so much is a bit crunchy these days.” 

“So the hotel it is.” She said it as a statement and made a gesture to mean ever onward. 

As Killian drove out of the parking lot – hauling ass over the speed bumps to jostle her around like old times – he saw her shooting sideways glances at the unmoving yet completely lifelike custom silicone prosthetic draped across his lap. Being a stubborn asshole had worked in his favor when he lost his hand. Against his doctors and physical therapists’ suggestions to make his life easier, he’d made few concessions when it came to specialized equipment. He became adept at crossing his remaining hand over to the left side for anything that required dexterity: headlights, window buttons, door handles.

Refusing to live a largely altered life helped him heal mentally and emotionally from the injury, and the normalcy cut down on the number of stares and pitying looks thrown his way. That, in turn, cut down on his anger and overwhelming need to pick a fight in the early days, not that it erased it completely. That had happened with one look from Mary Margaret after Killian had returned David to her with red pouring out of his nose and bloodied knuckles sustained when Killian’s mouth had written a check it couldn’t cash in the alley next to a bar. 

These days it was as close to a non-issue as loss of limb could be for someone and he easily turned the engine off, shut down the lights and opened the door when they reached her hotel before Emma could even rearrange her legs to get out. 

He followed her through the lobby, allowing his eyes to get their fill of her unbelievable ass until she caught him gawking in the reflective doors of the elevator. Emma shook it at him a little and laughed when he mimed a heart attack, pushing him into the small space and making a show of doing her own ogling. In another time and place he might have entertained her with a few Chippendales-esque dance moves but the higher the elevator climbed and the closer they got to her room, the more Killian became lost in a rush of thought wondering what Emma wanted to talk about and what she would say. 

The room was standard and smelled like her hair. He eased his jacket off her shoulders and tossed it over the back of the utilitarian desk chair, watching as she kicked off her shoes and walked into the bathroom. 

Emma came back with a black elastic between her teeth, hands working to scrape her hair up into a ponytail and he swallowed hard at how young she looked with it pulled back. A bottle of amber liquid and some Solo cups were produced and she jerked her head toward the small table in the corner. 

By the time Killian sat and realized it was the same brand of rum they used to steal from his brother, Emma had poured a measure into three cups. She handed one to him and took the other, leaving the third between them untouched. 

As she raised her cup, fingers ran over the top of his prosthetic hand until she came to flesh and blood, squeezing his arm above the wrist. 

“To Liam,” she said, her eyes shining with tears just ahead of his own as the weight of the gesture hit him. 

Killian had missed the funeral, the toasts and moments of silence for his brother all taking place while he was deployed. The condolences had dried up due to time and his advanced status as a shut-in, leaving him to wonder in more maudlin moments how the hell his life could be so completely changed without Liam while the rest of the world spun merrily around, no worse off with the loss. 

He thanked her, maybe more with his eyes than with his voice, and swallowed hard around the rum, coughing at the unrefined taste. 

“Fucking hell, this shit is terrible.” 

Emma’s hand was fanning her face, tongue comically tasting the air like a dog with a mouthful of peanut butter. 

“So awful. How did he even drink this crap?” She picked up the bottle and stared at the label critically. 

“Yeah, well, the joke is on us. I found Liam’s stock of the good stuff hidden in the garage a few years ago. He knew we’d sneak some and kept the cheap stuff where we’d find it. Want another?” Killian waved vaguely toward her cup. 

“Hell, no. God, he was an asshole sometimes.” Emma said it fondly and with a fresh shine to her eyes. 

“That he was. Although I did manage to get the lion’s share of that particular trait when God himself handed it down to the Brothers Jones.” He blew on his knuckles and buffed them on his shirt, the movement causing a faint jingle. 

Before Killian could stop her, Emma reached out, hooking his tags with the slightest of brushes against his chest, and pulled them out, bending her head to examine them. 

“I’ve never seen black dog tags like this before,” she said, turning them over. “And why is one in almost perfect condition and the other beat to shit?” 

“The military issues these to Special Forces when they’re behind enemy lines to blacken all insignia.” He held up his prosthetic. “They were the last set I was issued before I left. Wore one tucked into my boot and the other around my neck.” 

Emma dropped the tags and placed her hand on his knee. She was still close to him, leaning forward in her chair and far enough into his space that Killian couldn’t breathe. There were creases at the corners of her eyes that hadn’t been there before, along with a few more freckles. He found himself intensely jealous of whoever had the privilege of sitting in the sun with her, putting laugh lines on her beautiful face, and his fist balled in anger behind his cup. 

“I heard about your injury and how the Navy let you go. I’m so sorry.” 

Stifled by both her nearness and sympathy, he shoved himself back and stood, options limited in the small room, pacing a few strides before deciding the looking out the window and a grand view of the back parking lot was his best bet for air, even if it was only metaphorical. 

“Is that why I’m here, Swan? So you can what – pity me? Offer condolences? Raise a glass to Liam, pat me on the knee about losing my hand?” 

Killian couldn’t keep himself from leaning forward, pressing his forehead against the coolness of the glass, the sound of blood rushing in his ears keeping him from hearing Emma walk up behind him. He startled at her touch but almost immediately relaxed into it, his reaction pissing him off and confusing him even further. 

 _Not enough to move, though._  

He let her arms slip around his sides as she’d done so many times before, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. Years ago, it would be to steal his warmth, invading the pockets of his jacket after refusing it when he offered on a chilly night, twining freezing fingers with his. Killian had taken their casual intimacy for granted back then. Over the years there had been no one other than the occasional woman to scratch the proverbial itch with no extra time wasted on affection or familiarity, and he found himself suddenly craving it. 

Emma made a small huffing noise when his hand came up and closed over hers, and he felt her cheek nestle more firmly against him in contentment. 

“Why are you here?

The minute the words were whispered into the room, Killian wished he could take them back. It sounded pathetic to his ears, and that was before taking into consideration their history included his woman walking out of his life and never looking back ten damn years before. His fingers tightened over her wrist, irritated at his own impulsivity and even more so at the faint ribbons of hope laced through his soul. 

She shrugged her shoulders, the motion strong against his back, in a way that some would interpret as dismissive but he knew better. It was often Swanspeak for impending revelation, and he decided it wasn’t worth the gamble. 

“Forget I asked.” 

“I’m here for _you_.” 

Their words mingled together, hers coming out in a rush and his breathed against a windowpane and he took a moment to process. 

“Do – _did_ \- you love me?” Killian choked on the words. 

Her admission was simple and, at the same time, wholly complicated. 

“Yes. I do. Since I was fifteen years old.” 

In a heartbeat he turned them until Emma was flat against the glass, caged in by Killian’s hand next to her head. He stared into her eyes, watching them glitter in the dim light, searching for a lie or more of the truth. 

All he found was the latter. 

A moment passed as Killian experienced his own five personal stages of _what the fuck:_ a wildly cocked eyebrow, confusion, disbelief, an overwhelming desire to have his hearing checked and desperately wanting to call bullshit so it wouldn’t hurt as much when she inevitably took it back. 

But she didn’t take it back. And she didn’t waver. Emma simply traced his cheekbone with her thumb, waiting for him to say something. 

“You never told me,” he said dumbly. 

“I didn’t know how.” 

“Using actual words would have been a good start, Swan.” 

It came out with no small amount of sass and when she laughed it was contagious. Her head dropped onto his shoulder and they swayed together, giggling like a couple of kids who just heard a dirty joke. When Emma lifted her head, Killian reached up to smooth back the few strands of hair framing her face, fingertips whispering against her jawline and thumb dipping into the shallow cleft of her chin. 

“You don’t know me anymore. What if you don’t like what you see?” 

Emma made a show of pushing him back enough to look him up and down, tongue touching her upper lip with a sly grin on her face, unapologetically stealing his moves as she took her fill of him standing there in dark blue flat front dress pants and a crisp, tailored white dress shirt with an extra button undone and the sleeves rolled up above his wrists. 

“Have you _seen_ you? Jesus, you were hot in high school but this,” she gestured up and down, “is fucking ridiculous. And I bet you pet dogs on the street and make cute faces at random toddlers sitting a few tables over at Granny’s, too.” 

Killian didn’t know how to talk about his feelings – his own or hers. The progress he’d made crawling out of rock bottom and opening up didn’t include lessons on how the hell to deal with the lost love of his life coming back into the mix. It was easier to make it physical; to cage her in again, this time leading with his hips, pressing her against the window, savoring how Emma’s eyes glazed, her breath hitched, and how she arched slightly to seat herself more firmly against him. 

“Are you saying you find me devilishly handsome, Swan? If so, I hope you’ve saved some of that admiration for yourself. Because you always were beautiful but this,” he trailed his fingertip down the strap of her dress and let it dance lightly over the cleavage peeking out of the neckline, “this is more than just about any man can take.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not looking to be taken by just any man, isn’t it?” 

Muscle memory put his prosthetic up behind Emma’s head a split second before it would have bumped the glass from the driving force of his kiss. She didn’t miss a beat; fingers moving through his hair as her tongue slid against his. When Killian could no longer breathe, he skimmed his lips to her neck, cupping her jaw and exposing a long column of skin begging to be tasted. A sharp nip of his teeth below her ear earned him two hands running over his ass and the subsequent soothing of the bite with his tongue, a slide of her palm between them and over his hardening cock. 

Not to be outdone, Killian ran his hand up her thigh, fingertips finding the smallest scrap of satin imaginable and bypassing it completely to find Emma wet and wanting. His head dropped when her grip on him tightened as he slid a finger inside her, mouth fusing to the soft swell of her breast and sucking a mark before moving back up so he could hook her knee over his elbow and whisper in her ear. 

“Is this what you meant by talking, love? Hearing me tell you how fucking gorgeous you are?” Killian slipped his finger nearly all the way out, teasing her with the faintest of touches as his thumb brushed her clit, and back in again. “How tight you feel? That I can’t wait to make you scream as you come around me?” 

Emma’s fingers scrabbled on his shoulders as she balanced, his firm, rhythmic incursions leaving her gasping. 

“No, but it’ll do for now – _dammit_ , _Jones!_ ” The last part was hissed, her displeasure at the withdrawal of his hand clear but only momentary when saw him reach for his belt. Impatient fingers batted his away, making quick work of buckle, button and zipper. When she moved to slip a hand below the waistband of his boxer briefs, it was his turn to do the halting. Shoving his pants and boxers down to his hips, he reached in and pulled his cock out, unable to stop himself from indulging in a few quick strokes. 

He started to speak and saw Emma watching his hand, eyes glazed over and her tongue wetting her lips. 

Ducking to brush his nose against hers, he whispered, “Not this time, Swan. I can’t wait and I don’t think you can, either.” 

Dipping slightly, he rubbed his silken head against her clit and this time her eyes rolled back but the teasing would have to wait. With a few adjustments, Emma’s dress was above her waist, panties pushed aside and Killian bent further at the knees, catching the back of her legs and lifting with his forearms, anchoring her bodily against the window as her legs wrapped around his waist. He was already so close, just the slightest of movements and he’d be able to slip inside her and he trembled at the thought. 

Slightly taller from her new vantage point, Emma sensed his hesitation and tipped his chin up with a finger. She kissed him thoroughly and deeply then frantically and filthy, finally tearing away from him when she was breathless. 

The sound she made when he lowered her onto him inch by inch was upstaged only by her whispering, “Please, Killian. Please. I need you,” and it snapped whatever thin thread of self-control that was holding him together. 

Fingernails bit into his shoulders as he fucked her hard against the window, pouring into it every ounce of hurt, loss and love he could. When they weren’t kissing, mouths were on every other inch of skin they could reach. Emma’s teeth were closed around his earlobe when fatigue started to set in, each thrust shallower than the last and her knees slipping down his hips. 

Stretching her toes to the ground, Emma put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, whimpering slightly when he slipped out of her. She advanced on him, ushering him backwards until his legs hit the bed and he toppled. Looking down, all he could see was the top of a blonde head and she made quick work of removing his socks and shoes before reaching up to scrape his pants and boxer briefs down his legs. Killian unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and sat up just enough to slip his arms out, tossing it aside as he watched Emma stand and shimmy her way out of her dress. 

Jesus, she was a sight to behold. Lean and strong in a way that spoke less of vanity and more of discipline and vocation, he was caught off guard – and caught totally staring – when something hit him. He clawed soaked satin off his face and half-assed chucked them back in Emma’s direction as she giggled. There was the briefest glimpse of bare breasts when she bent over, sliding hands up his thighs and a tongue up the underside of his cock. Killian’s back arched at the sensation, fingers clenching the bedcovers so he wouldn’t give into the urge to twine them into her hair and see what she could do with that pretty mouth. 

It was just as well; Emma clearly had other things on her mind as she knelt above him braced on one hand near his ribs, licking, biting and sucking her way up his torso. Killian tensed when her hand slipped down between them expecting to feel it close over his length and when no caress came he lifted his head to see why. The sight of Emma’s hand between her own thighs was too much and he wrapped his hand around her ponytail and pulled her gently away from the mark she was sucking just below his collarbone. 

After a quick simultaneous move up the bed, her knees shifting so she was straddling him, Emma sat up, rolling her hips. Bare smoothness pressed against his cock and with a little adjustment, slick wetness joined the mix. She moved along his length, pace quickening for her own entertainment as his jaw clenched and he fought to let her have her fun instead of flipping them over and fucking her into the mattress. 

As a distraction from his own satisfaction, Killian slipped his hand between her legs, circling his thumb around her clit, fingers splayed up over her flat belly. She breathed his name and the sound of it wrapped in a moan as he pleasured her was something he’d knew never tire of hearing. When she lifted off him he slowed his attentions, wondering if she’d had enough but she gripped his wrist to keep his hand in place. With a small adjustment, she was sinking down onto his cock, tight warmth enveloping every inch and through the haze of toe curling arousal Killian resumed his touch. 

She rode him fast and hard, head tipped back so far her hair brushed against his inner thighs. When she started to shake, urging him on with a litany of filthy words and curses, he planted his feet on the mattress and thrust up into her, the new angle mingling with his nimble fingers to push her over the edge. Her sex rippled around him, squeezing so tight he almost came himself. Emma collapsed on his chest, face buried in his neck as she gasped for air. Killian kept moving, coaxing her through the aftershocks of orgasm, hand trailing down the glistening skin of her back. 

On the other side of recovery, she began rocking against him. It was slow at first as she rained wet, open mouth kisses across his chest, and faster once Killian got a hand on her stellar ass, guiding her movements. Between the feel of him inside her and the incredible sight of bouncing breasts in front of his face when she rose up on one arm, he felt a pull deep in his belly. 

“Emma, love…I’m going to come.” 

Her other hand came up to his face, stroking over his cheek as he began to fall apart. 

“Killian. Killian, look at me. I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

He kept his eyes on hers as long as he could and when they started to roll back in his head, he circled his arms around her, crushing her to him as he came, her name falling from his lips. 

**** 

Years in the military had made Killian accustomed to waking up in unfamiliar places but not even getting jolted out of slumber by incoming enemy fire caused the same panic as waking up alone after a night with Emma. 

Again. 

He sat up, abruptly, sheet pooling around his waist. Anger was nowhere to be found, just deep-seated despair as his chin dropped to his chest. The tears were quick to come and hot as they rolled down his cheeks. He felt numb and couldn’t bring himself to look to see if there was another note left on the nightstand next to his prosthetic for him to find. 

“Fuck,” he said quietly, then again as loud as he could, the drawn out anguished scream reverberating in the small room. 

“Fuck who? Me, I hope?” 

Killian’s hand clamped over his heart, as much to quell the shock of another voice in the room as to try and hold in the rush of feelings and wondering how loud he’d yelled to completely eclipse the sound of her coming in the room. 

She was kicking off a pair of flip flops, awkwardly juggling two cups of coffee and a white pastry bag, chattering about the poor front desk clerk who had to send another hotel guest whose furry belly was already smeared with pancake syrup back to his room to put on something other than a pair of short running shorts before he helped himself further to the continental breakfast. It took a moment for Emma to realize he was sitting on the bed completely shell shocked and when she did, the coffee and baked goods were abandoned. 

“Killian, what’s wrong?” She held his face in her hands, thumbs brushing his tears away. “Did – do you have bad dreams?” 

His hand came up to scrub at his face, knocking hers away. They settled in his lap, the tips of her fingers brushing over the end of his abbreviated forearm, his prosthetic taken off before they’d settled into bed for the night.

“Emma.” His voice was hard. “I woke up and you were fucking gone.” 

The fingers offering the barest touch tightened over his arm before she backed off the bed, hand clamped over her mouth and a horrified look in her eyes. 

“No. No, no, no. I’m so – I didn’t think. Killian, I am so sorry, I just didn’t think. You used to sleep so soundly I thought I could duck out for five minutes.” She gestured toward the table where she’d dumped her continental breakfast offerings, “I brought us muffins.” 

It ended on a wail as Emma dropped to her knees next to the bed, face contorted as she started to cry. She reached toward him and he let her take his hand. Pressing it to her wet cheek for a moment, she turned it over and kissed his knuckles. 

“I am so sorry, Killian. For everything. I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me to Boston. Or how to deal with our night together.” Her lips didn’t stop moving against his skin. “How to love you. How to let you love me.” 

Killian felt his jaw flex under the stress of the war waging inside of him. It was completely against his nature to see Emma in anguish and not try to comfort her but he was pissed and reeling and completely afraid that if he interrupted her, she’d stop talking. 

“I’ve been in Boston since I left that night but I didn’t go to school. It was rough for a while until I got a job working for a woman who did bail bonds. I learned the trade and eventually went out on my own. The pay is feast or famine in the beginning and it’s tough work physically. I’ve spent a few nights in emergency rooms after getting tossed around like a rag doll by a skip I couldn’t get the upper hand with.” 

Head swimming with the influx of information, Killian tried to imagine Emma as a badassed bail bondsperson and it clicked in an instant. She had always been capable of handling herself, even as a teenager, and he felt a twinge of pride. 

“Part of the job is tracking people. It’s not against the rules to use the tools of the trade for personal use per se, but it’s frowned upon from a privacy standpoint. So I probably fucked up huge by looking in on you from time to time but I just…I had to know if you were okay. And for a while, you were. And then you weren’t.” She started fidgeting, abandoning his hand in favor of toying with the sheet. In her position she looked like she could be praying to absolve her sins and he guessed in a way she was. “So much time had passed when I found out Liam died. And then when you came home from the Navy without your hand. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me, especially when things got better. Can I…sit with you?” 

A gracious sweep of the arm was all it took for her to climb up next to him. Her face was blotchy from crying, head hanging low. 

“Your boat is really pretty.” 

Emma looked at him then and Killian swallowed around the lump in his throat, wondering if she knew. 

“You named it The Swan.” 

 _Fuck._ She knew. 

An eyebrow cocked, he tried to play it off. 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Instagram hashtags and Mary Margaret’s habit of extensively photographing every moment of her life.” 

“Ah.” The room fell silent, save for an occasional sniffle on her part. Eventually Killian couldn’t stand it and shuffled off the bed, stopping to pull on his boxers so he wasn’t free balling it on his way to get her a tissue. 

“So you’ve been in contact with them this whole time.” It sounded accusatory and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t mean it as such. His head ached at the thought of Mary Margaret playing the role of Emma’s agent in the field, feeding her information about him on the down low. 

Emma stopped blowing her nose and said, “No! No, just being an Internet creep. Last night was the first time I’ve seen them since prom.” She balled the tissue in her fist. “It’s been just me since then. Nobody else.” Her eyes bored into his and Killian understood the totality of what she was saying. 

“Bail bondsperson or nun, Swan?” 

A therapist would probably have plenty to say about his habit of deflecting with humor but he didn’t think a session or six on a couch would heal as much of the crack in his heart as the sound of her slightly hysterical giddy laugh. He settled onto the bed, stretched out with legs crossed at the ankle and a hand extended to her. The relief on Emma’s face was clear as she moved into the cradle of his arm, settling her head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, maybe there were a few nobodies. Nothing serious. The last one was a depressingly long time ago.” 

The messy bun keeping her hair piled on top of her head tickled his nose and he craned his neck trying to find a place to rest his chin as he commiserated. 

“Nothing serious for me, either.” 

She toyed with his dog tags, nails scraping lightly over his chest hair and Killian had to consciously work to not hum his pleasure. It had nothing to do with sex; just causal intimacy he’d been without for so long. _They_ had been without for so long. 

“What do you think that says about us?” 

His arm tightened around her shoulder as he thought about it. 

“Well, there’s the obvious.” He paused, waiting for her to get impatient and only continuing after she nudged him. “That sex last night was completely inevitable and inescapable because of your dry spell and…how did you put it? Finding my present day visage _fucking ridiculous_?” 

The nipple twist was sudden and vicious, and Killian yelped, rolling over and pinning both hands above her head as he settled his body on top of hers to save himself from further onslaught. 

“You’re going to pay for that, Swan.” Eyeing the chest area of her sweatshirt, he laughed as she bucked beneath him, her top riding up. Figuring he had one shot at revenge, Killian gambled and let go of her hands, ducking his head quickly and pressing his open mouth to her stomach. She screeched as he started to blow a raspberry but he was in it for the long haul, at least until the tickle became too much and she started thrashing, nearly catching him right between the legs with his knee. 

They settled in a heap, sorting out limbs until they were both on their sides facing each other, legs entwined. Emma rolled her eyes at the press of his slightly thickened cock against her thigh. 

“ _That_ got you fired up?” 

Killian shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t laying on and snuggled contentedly into the pillow they shared, eyes closed. 

“It’s been depressingly long for me, too. Add in friction and the fact that I’ve always loved you in sweats with your hair looking like fucking haystack and you get half chub.” 

“With that kind of sweet talk, I’m surprised someone else hasn’t swept you up along the way,” she muttered, and he opened first one eye, then the other, suddenly serious and desperate to convey how he felt. 

“There is no someone else for me. Don’t you know, Emma? It’s always been you. Maybe that’s weird or obsessive but I swear it wasn’t for lack of trying. Moving on would have been easy. Welcome, almost. But it never happened for me. And I guess not for you, either.” 

He moved close enough to drop a kiss onto her mouth and kept it brief, all too aware of the fact that he hadn’t yet brushed his teeth, before shifting back. 

“No, not for me, either.” 

She fell silent again, teeth worrying her lower lip and eyebrows knit together. Suddenly caught on a precipice of uncertainty at what she was thinking, Killian scratched behind his ear absently until he realized she was staring at him with a strange look on her face. He thought he’d long since lost the nervous tic but the apprehension of the moment brought it back with a vengeance. 

“What is it, Swan?” His voice sounded shaky to his ears and she must have picked up on it because her eyes snapped to his and she smiled, her entire face softening into warm sunshine. 

“Let’s do this.” 

“Again? Don’t get me wrong, I’m down for morning sex but we’re in the middle of something serious here. Ow!” This time, she’d thumped him in the forehead. 

“Knock it the fuck off, Jones. You know what I mean. I want this. You.” Emma’s eyes were open and honest as she laid her heart bare. “I want us to try. Do whatever the hell normal is for once.” She leaned in and rested her forehead on his chest, effectively muffling her voice but he could hear every word. “Get to know each other again. And I don’t know, probably bang a lot.” 

**** 

“You called it, Swan,” Killian said around a mouthful of food. They were cross-legged on the bed, stark naked with a pizza box between them. She was finger combing her wet hair between slices, the earlier shower an attempt to look like they hadn’t fucked their way around the room all day before the delivery guy arrived but ending in an earth shattering christening of the bathroom. 

“What, that we’d bang a lot?” Emma waggled her eyebrows at him and leaned forward, mouth open like a baby bird until he shoved the pizza he was holding at her so she could take a bite. 

“No, wise ass, although that particular prediction has indeed come true. I like the barbecue sauce on the pizza.” 

“Told you,” she said with her mouth full and he reached out, swiping some errant sauce off the corner of her mouth as Emma leaned back precariously to pick her bottle of vending machine Mountain Dew up off the nightstand. “I’d like to propose a toast.” 

Clearing his throat with theatrical properness and sitting up a little straighter, he grabbed his own soda and held it aloft as she spoke. 

“To meeting halfway. Eventually.” 

Killian reached out and snagged Emma’s chin, kissing her and tracing his thumb over the dimple in her chin before making his own toast. 

“To making a new beginning of another life.”


End file.
